“There is no greater sorrow
Than to be mindful of the happy time
In misery.” –Dante Alighieri
[The Divine Comedy]


I was once told that one gets out of life only what he puts into it. A man becomes what he creates. A man chooses his own destiny. Now, I regret to inform you, that if you believe these ideas, you are wrongly mistaken. We do not choose our own destiny nor do we get out of life what we put into it. Our lives are planned for us; each moment intricately assembled to fit a grand plan, the grand plan, the plan of a master ruler. This doesn’t sound too bad right? Destiny set in stone, lives conveniently planned to our advantage, life, for the most part seems pretty good. In most cases, I would imagine, one would not beg to differ. But it is in the rare case that something goes terribly wrong, that rare case that this preplanned schedule gets thrown off, that rare case that someone’s life gets left behind, forgotten. It is exactly that calamity in events that brings me to where I am now. A place no one dare enters on his own free will. A place called hell.

Please, do not go judging me too quickly here. I would not be in hell if I had any other option, but the thing is- I don’t. Now, there is more to the story than you are seeing, for I am not just another man damned to burning in hell; in fact, I am no longer physically a man at all. I am a path. I am a road. I am, the pathway to hell. Like I said, don’t be too quick to judge. Every person has a story, likewise, so does every road. Unlike your story, which inevitably begins with birth or first love or some other significant moment in your mortal life; mine begins somewhere much different. Mine beings with my death.

God made a mistake. Yes, I said it- GOD MADE A MISTAKE. He may be all-powerful, but even he is not mighty enough to surpass the dominance of blunder. I can’t begin to guess if he miscalculated or rather, miss planned; but the point stands at this: while God was turning over destinies he somehow forgot mine. I lived an average life and predictably I died. I died, just as you will some day. My life was nothing special and my death followed in the same manner. I imagine my funeral was grand though; I was quite an agreeable person in my day. Tears were probably shed and prayers were probably cast in my honor. However, I take it they didn’t pray hard enough. For when I died, I became lost. I wandered, an aimless soul without a body. Heaven was visible, taunting even, and hell, at the time was unattainable. I ached for some form of closure, some way to sense finish.

That’s when he came to me. I don’t know where God was during this time, probably up in heaven overlooking destinies. But he, this fallen angel was my only hope of attainable closure; and I mean, isn’t an angel and angel no matter how “fallen” he may be? It was enough for me. He made me deal,
“Be the pathway to my kingdom.” He commanded.
He told me I deserved not feel the ache of hell and clearly deserved not the paradise of heaven. The only way to ensure painlessness and neutrality was through the becoming of a road to his land. He assured me that his road was paved with “good intentions” and my morals would be no more affected than I would allow for them to be.
I took the offer, hands down.

So here I am, the road to hell. The path you all dread, but aid in creating. It seems closure is something we all seek and an idea only we can only create for ourselves. Originally, I blamed God for forgetting me. But I now see, my choices are my own. Sometimes, we have to take what life offers us and deal. Other times, we have to create our own ending. This is mine. What will yours be?